


A fraction of your happy heart

by SunflowerAro



Series: Peter Parker is a loveable idiot [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter can make webs naturally, Sinkholes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, tony just wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerAro/pseuds/SunflowerAro
Summary: "Peter shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the black spots dancing across his vision, but it only made him more dizzy. The world faded before he could say anything else."Tony takes Peter out for some forest training. What could go wrong?Peter really needs to trust Tony more.
Series: Peter Parker is a loveable idiot [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566292
Kudos: 23





	A fraction of your happy heart

Peter whooped as he leapt from the branch, air rushing past him. He shot out a web, swinging up and onto another branch. He laughed with glee as he stuck the landing, crouching and looking down to where Tony sat.

"Nice one, kiddo!" Peter grinned down at his mentor, who was currently watching his progress from a drone on the forest floor. 

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," he replied, feeling giddy. He could squeal with delight, if Tony hadn’t already told him not to on multiple occasions that afternoon. As it was, he was vibrating with excitement; Tony was happy with his progress and he was complimenting him. Today was amazing! 

Tony checked his watch before calling up, "that should do for today. We can keep practising tomorrow, bright and early!" 

Peter groaned and leapt down reluctantly, casting the trees a yearning look as he followed his mentor towards their cabin they'd rented for this occasion. Tony had graciously taken him up to the mountains in an effort to train him in a more natural environment. He wanted Peter to be prepared if there came a time when he was fighting a battle in the forest, or needed to get away—he needed to be familiar with the environment. 

They walked down the gravel driveway, shoes crunching underneath them. The cabin sat before them, quaint—for Tony, that was—with only a single story, a wrap-around patio and bushes creeping up the sides of the cabin, it was pleasant. It was cosier than Peter had expected of Tony, if he were to be honest—he had expected something more akin to the compound, with bland, grey walls and paved driveways. Something cold.

The two headed inside, greeted by the pleasant warmth of the fire and the verdant plants placed about the cabin. 

"Web-shooters." Tony held his hand out and Peter hurriedly removed the devices, handing them to his mentor. 

Tony sat down at the wooden table, a screwdriver already in hand as he tweaked about with the web-shooters. Peter bounced on his heels as he waited, unsure of what to do in the meantime. The exhilaration was calling to him still, and he yearned to be slinging about the forest again. There was no way he could just sit around when there was so much to do, so much light left in the day.

"I'm gonna go swing for a bit more, Mr. Stark." Tony nodded vacantly, not hearing him, but Peter took it as permission and raced out the door. He would have to use his natural webs as his shooters were with Tony, but that was fine so long as he didn't expend himself too much. 

He shot out a web, launching himself into the nearest tree, whooping with glee once more. The wind whipped at his face as he flew through the trees, heart pounding with the effort, legs burning, yet he couldn’t stop. Peter paused to catch his breath, crouching on a particularly thick branch and watching as the autumn leaves drifted towards the ground, watched as the evening sun streamed through gaps in the canopy. He sighed, closing his eyes and focusing on the birds chirping, on the rustling of the leaves. He could stay out here forever…

A piercing scream nearby nearly caused him to fall from his perch and he turned towards to park a few hundred metres away, eyes wide. He was already swinging towards the site before his thoughts caught up to him, eager to save whoever was in need. He landed on a tree at the edge of the clearing and assessed the situation. A sinkhole had formed not 50 metres away from him, where a picnic table had been, and numerous people were surrounding the edges, calling down to those trapped. 

Peter swung down in record time, pushing past the crowd. "Everyone get back!" He yelled, looking down over the ledge.

Six people were trapped in various areas of the hole. Several were within reach, grasping to the edges in desperation, whereas the last three were further down, one person unconscious on the remains of the picnic table. 

Peter got to work hauling up the few who were easily accessible, nodding at their grateful 'thank you’ before he paused to plan. A man was stuck on a ledge about 6 metres deep, then a woman a little farther down, gripping onto a tree root for dear life. Peter easily made his decision and swung down, wincing at the piercing pain in his wrists from overuse of his natural ability—it wasn't the most important thing at the moment—and caught the woman's outreached arm and pulled her close as he lifted them both up to safety. He dropped her off crying her thanks before dropping down once more to help the man to safety as well. The man offered him a shaky thanks and Peter turned back to the scene. One person left: a child at the bottom. 

Peter dropped down, jumping from ledge to ledge to avoid using his webs—his wrists were on fire, but he couldn't think about that now. He reached the child in no time, a little girl who was unconscious. He frowned at the blood seeping out of a wound from her head—she had to be fine, she had to. He swept her into his arms, holding tight with one arm and preparing to swing up when the table shook tremendously and if it weren't for his sticking abilities he would have fallen and injured the both of them. The ground beneath them groaned and Peter threw out a web just as the ground gave way, sinking further. He sighed in relief as he scaled the wall, albeit slowly. He pulled himself over ledges, then shot out another web to continue climbing until finally, finally, he hauled the two of them over the sinkholes edge. 

The crowd erupted into cheers as they peaked, some carefully sliding closer to pulled them out. The child's parents rushed forward, thanking him profusely and holding their child close. 

"Thank you, Spider-Man. If you hadn't shown up, I fear our daughter would be lost forever." One of the men stepped forward, tear tracks staining his face and his eyes red and wet.

Peter rubbed the back of his head, cringing in pain and grateful for his mask. "Of course, sir. Anything to help save someone." The man nodded, turning back to his husband and child and enveloping them in a tight hug once more. Peter smiled wistfully at the scene, longing for something he couldn't have. 

"Hey, you should join us for dinner! It's the least we can do," one of the campers, the man he had saved, called out. Muttered agreements spread through the crowd and Peter found himself nodding absentmindedly. His arms felt wet; he was bleeding now. 

"Of course!" He agreed when they all looked at him, waiting for his answer. "I just...gotta go to the bathroom real quick! Start without me," he finished, rushing towards the park's bathroom. Inside, he tore off his mask, taking in a much needed deep breathe. The adrenaline had hidden most of his pain, but now that it was over... 

Peter hissed as he carefully removed the sleeves of his suit. His wrists had seen better days; gashes lined his upper wrists from the wear on his arms and overuse of his webs—he hadn't used them that much ever, not even close—from what he could see, as blood was hiding a lot of the damage. He should have taken his back up shooters! Why was he so stupid? He groaned, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. He pulled out a roll of bandages from one of the numerous hidden pockets lining the suit, glad Karen had been disabled for this particular occasion— the last thing he needed was Tony knowing about this, he didn't want to suffer through yet another lecture, after the mothering, of course. 

Rinsing his arms off under the tap was no easy feat, both the pain and the tiny sink made it difficult, but he managed. The worst part, by far, was cleaning the wounds, but he was proud of his ability to keep quiet—the campers need not know about this issue either. Once his wounds were wrapped up cleanly, he sat back against the bathroom wall. The sinkhole event seemed as though it had been a lifetime, yet it had only been a few minutes and he needed a moment to get away from all the action, from being Spider-Man, before heading back out for the campers' dinner. When he heard their loud cheering outside and fire crackers going off, he hauled himself to his feet, pulling his mask back on and fixing his suit. It was time.

*

Peter's hands shook as he made his way over to the campers. While he was gone, they'd set up a bonfire and lit it and were now circled around it, chatting away while a few others were standing over a grill and laughing together. The sun had since vanished beneath the horizon, only faint purple streaks lining the sky as the stars began to prick the dark canvas above them. It looked...peaceful. Peter almost left, feeling slightly out of place, but they were waiting for him—he couldn’t leave with no explanation. So, he took a deep breath and walked up to them, straightening his posture. 

The campers cheered upon noticing him, pushing closer to the fire and into one of the many seats set up, closer to the action. Peter was grateful to be sitting—his legs were beginning to feel weak. The woman he had saved earlier sat down beside him. She had a bandage wrapped around her arm, and several scratches lined what wasn’t covered, but she was still alive. Peter was grateful he had been there.

"Thanks for earlier," she began, a soft smile upon her face, "I don't know what we would have done without your help."

"Of course! It was the least I could do. I'm always happy to help."

"I'm Meghan," she said, offering her hand.

"Spider-Man." He took the proffered hand and shook it. 

They settled into silence for a moment as Meghan warmed her hands up. 

"What are you doing so far north, anyway? Aren't you usually in Queens?" Meghan asked. 

"Oh! I'm just, uh, training at the moment." Peter shrugged nonchalantly. He couldn't let them know Tony was here, but he could be as honest as possible. "Working on stamina and accuracy," he explained when she frowned, tilting her head. 

"Ah, okay. Spider-Man stuff. Cool." He nodded and they returned to companionable silence. Peter turned back to the fire, enjoying the warmth it was providing him; he was beginning to feel cold and tired, and the fire helped immensely. He shook himself awake when Meghan appeared in his vision.

"You feeling okay? Dinner's ready and I've been trying to get your attention for a bit." Her worried eyes searched him, but couldn't see much past the mask. He nodded, wincing as the action sparked fuel in a headache he hadn't realised he had. Meghan pursed her lips, but stood up, gesturing for him to follow.

Resisting the urge to groan, Peter pulled himself up with tremendous effort. He swayed at his vision tilted, falling back into the seat as the world swam around him with his head in his hands. He could see Meghan’s feet through the gaps in his fingers.  
"Hey, what's wrong!" Her arms grabbed his shoulders gently and he leaned into the touch.   
"I—" His vision was assaulted with black spots. Peter shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of them, only succeeding in making himself more dizzy. The world faded before he could say anything.

*

Warmth. Not overwhelming, like the fire, but comforting, soft. Peter shifted, blankets falling off him. Blankets? He opened his eyes, looking around blearily. He was in a yellow room, soft, gentle colours surrounding him: the green of the plants on the bedside table, the pastel pink of the blankets, and the warm glow the sunlight brought over the room. Wait, sunlight? 

Peter cast a glance out of the window to confirm his suspicions— he had passed out. Lifting his arms, he noticed they were bare of his suit, instead pristine white bandages covered them, providing a thick barrier between his wounds and the outside world, sheltering them like a child. 

His suit! Peters' eyes raced around until they spotted the suit, its harsh red and blue out of place in the room. But if his suit was there, that meant they knew what he looked like. Peter grimaced, he was so stupid! They probably already knew his identity and they were going to tell the world, then Mr Stark would take his suit away again, and what was he going to do without the suit to—

The door opening abruptly threw him from his thoughts. Meghan slipped in, silently closing the door behind her. She jumped as she turned and noticed Peter watching her. 

"Oh, you're okay. That's great! We were so worried when you passed out back there. Sorry about taking off the suit, by the way, but we had to make sure you were okay. Why didn't you tell us you were hurt?"

Peter cringed, he hadn't meant for this to happen, usually his healing ability would have helped him prevent this—he must have done a number on himself this time. 

"It didn't seem as bad as it was," he explained, shrugging and refusing to meet her eyes. It was the best excuse he could make on such short notice. 

"Hmm." She didn't seem to believe him, but she dropped the matter. "We won't tell anyone." He gave her an odd look. "About your identity, I mean." Peter felt a weight he hadn't noticed lift off of him and he sighed in relief.

"Thank you, it means a lot." He smiled graciously. 

"Well, if you're feeling up to it we're starting breakfast. And, everyone would like to know you're okay." Peter felt warmth in his heart at their concern—even near strangers cared for his wellbeing. It was nearly overwhelming how much compassion humanity could have when he stopped focusing solely on villains.

"Of course." He got up gingerly, grateful the headache from earlier had vanished. 

Outside, the campers eagerly greeted him, asking about his health. He waved them all off, saying he was fine now, there was no need to worry. Some looked sceptical, but they all accepted his answers. Soon enough, he had a plate of bacon and eggs in his hands. If it weren't for the fact that he didn't know the people well, he would have scarfed down the food in record time—he was starving. As it was, he finished his food well before anyone else, and sat down next to the kids, laughing as he listened to the toddlers babble to each other.

Wheels crunching gravel pulled his attention away from a toddler’s eager gesticulating and he turned to see a black SUV pull up at the park’s entrance. Peter felt his gut drop as Tony stepped out of the vehicle, sunglasses reflecting the light as he eyed off the place before heading towards the nearest camper. With all that had been going on, Peter had forgotten to text his mentor to let him know he was alright. Shit. 

The camper who had been talking to Tony nodded, then pointed in his direction. Peter swiftly turned back to the toddlers, avoiding Tony's eyes and hoping to delay the inevitable. Tony would want to know what had happened, why he had kept him in the dark and vanished for a day. Peter couldn't tell him about the injuries: what if he took away his suit again, claiming he was too reckless? What if he thought he wasn't ready to be an avenger and set back his training until he was older? Peter felt anxiety grip his heart and his shoulders tended up. No, he had to keep it secret. He would heal quickly, anyway, and it would be like it never happened.

"Hey, Underoos." Peter reluctantly looked back, finally making eye contact with his mentor. 

"Oh. Hey, Mr. Stark!" He grimaced internally as he waved at Tony—was he being too casual?

Tony took off his glasses as he came closer, giving him a harsh stare. "So, this is where you've been? No calls, texts; do you know how worried I was?" The toddlers had moved away by now, distracted by a butterfly. They were alone. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. "Right, sorry. I was just helping out these people and stayed the night. I forgot to text, sorry." Close enough to the truth, right? 

Tony pursed his lips. "With me. Now. We're going back to the cabin and you can train until I feel like you're sorry enough for nearly giving me a heart attack. Again!" He turned and began to walk back to the car as Peter felt fear tear through him. There was no way he could train right now, not with his injuries; he needed a few more days to heal completely. 

"Can't we just stay here for a bit and relax?" He suggested, smacking himself mentally at the pathetic idea. His mind was racing too quickly to grasp onto any concrete idea at the moment. "I—I mean we've been training so much, surely we can take a break, enjoy the scenery?" 

Tony spun around, glaring. "No, I don't think we can."

Peter needed to stay here, if he went back, he would have to train, then Tony would find out. "I just want to stay here for a bit, okay?" He mumbled. He needed to come up with an excuse. Fast.

Tony scrutinised him. "Why," he asked slowly. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is something wrong?" 

Shit, shit, shit. "No! No, the people here are just so nice, and we haven't really taken any time to enjoy the place." He gestured over the valley to prove his point.  
Tony's raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "The truth, kid."

"That is the truth! I mean, look. The river, the waterfall, you can see the sunset just over there, and—" He stopped as Tony grabbed his arm, eyes widening as he noticed the bandage was peeking out, had been as he pointed towards each place he listed off. "I—" 

"Kid. Why didn't you just tell me you were injured?" Peter froze at the exhaustion in his mentor's voice, a gnawing guilt settling heavily in his stomach. 

He looked down at his feet, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. 

Tony sighed. "C’mon." He took his hand, leading him back to the car. 

Peter followed without hesitation. The cat was already out of the bag, why try and fight it? It would only make things worse. 

The silence in the car was thick, Peter clasping his hands together to stop himself from wringing them anxiously. What was Tony going to say? What would he do? Peter snuck a glance at his mentor: Tony was quiet, staring out at the campers. He bit his lip, what should he say?

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Peter jumped as Tony abruptly turned to him.

He shrugged, turning his gaze to the floor. "It was stupid."

Tony sighed, dragging a hand across his face. "I mean”–he shook his head–“how did you get hurt, kid?" 

"The campers needed help, and I forgot my shooters..." 

"You mean to tell me that your arms are bandaged up that thickly because you used your natural ability? Pete, you should've brought your shooters—"

"I know! But I was just gonna mess around for a little, then I heard screaming and I had to help!" Peter cut him off, unintentionally raising his voice. His breathing was ragged once he was done, and he looked down into his lap again.

"How bad was it?" Tony asked after a moment’s silence. 

Peter winced, recalling the amount of blood he had lost, how he had been rendered unconscious because of it. "It wasn't fun, but I'll live."

"Pete," Tony warned.

"Fine, I passed out. Happy?" Peter gave in, crossing his arms. 

"No. I need you to be more careful, Pete. What if you'd gotten more injured? Lost more blood?" 

Peter sighed, the guilt creeping back up, its hands digging into his chest, and he slumped. "I know. But, I couldn't just let them die. There, there was a sinkhole, and six people were stuck and I had to get them out. No one else could help." 

Tony placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I know you were trying to do what was right. I want you to call me next time first so I can help, so, you don't get hurt that badly again. I mean, you passed out, Pete." 

Peter tried to ignore the tears stinging behind his eyes, his emotions betraying him. "I just got lost in the heat of the moment. And—” He paused, looking away as his throat closed up. “I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to take the suit away again."

Peter heard Tony shifting and jumped when the hand on his shoulder wrapped around him. He turned back to his mentor. 

"Pete, I won't take away the suit again. Not because you tried to do the right thing and saved the lives of numerous people, okay?" Peter nodded, not trusting his voice. "Just make sure you get Karen to notify me next time, kid. You may need backup and I can't help if I don't know."

"O-okay, Mr Stark." Peter winced as his voice broke.

Tony smiled, satisfied. He turned back to the wheel, giving Peter a moment to compose himself. "Now, let's get back to our cabin so you can rest up and heal. As soon as you're better I'm going through with my word on training until you feel sorry." He smirked. 

Peter huffed indignantly. “Fine."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the first in a series of kinda related fics, but each can be read as a standalone. Title from the Autoheart song 'Moscow', because it deserves more love.


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